


and it’s worth it, it’s divine

by primaveril



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut, Witchcraft, almost pwp but not, but not the fantasy kind, just me waxing poetic about how perfect hyuck is, the real kind, this is basically cottagecore but with sex at the end, wicca!haechan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaveril/pseuds/primaveril
Summary: Mark was never one for magic and mysticism, but Donghyuck changed him, one incense-scented kiss after the other.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 20
Kudos: 193





	and it’s worth it, it’s divine

**Author's Note:**

> i always enjoyed fantasy aus and all those magical worlds, but then i thought, “why not bring actual witchcraft to the table?” and this was born. i literally wrote all this in three hours, yesterday, and it may feel a bit rushed (i’m very sorry), but i hope you guys enjoy it!  
> if any witch finds this, i did use mostly wiccan paganism as basis (since i’m wiccan), but i tried my best to focus on the characters rather than the witchy part of the plot hihi didn’t want to make any readers confused with all the sabbaths and overcomplicated names & stuff.

“Mark?” Donghyuck’s voice sounds shrill, somewhere in the depths of their kitchen, and Mark flinches. Oh, no. “Did you eat the apple pie I baked earlier?” 

His head peeks from the threshold and stares down the older, accusatory. “Maybe?”

The whine the younger produces almost makes the windows vibrate, brows furrowed in distress. “Babe! That was for the Beltane feast!”

_ Oh _ . That’s  _ definitely _ not good. Mark tries a smile, cheeks pink, still holding the remote in his hands. “Sorry?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and huffs, stomping back into the kitchen, mumbling a bunch of swears.

Ever since they started dating, Mark has tried to accommodate himself to Donghyuck’s  _ Witch Things _ . It wasn’t easy at first, considering he was never the superstitious guy and listening to his boyfriend talk about fairies and elementals as if they were real was slightly unsettling. He didn’t understand a single thing about energies, or  _ feng shui _ , or the thousands of rocks Donghyuck collected through his life, but he tried his best, and that was enough for the younger. They made it work, Mark even trying his hand at magic circles and astrology (he was  _ not _ cut for this job, thank you very much), resulting in good laughs and the nicest reward kisses.

It was easy to study with Donghyuck, he never felt pressured to; he simply wanted to be a part of his boyfriend’s world and understand it better. He even kept a little notebook as a cheat-sheet, which Donghyuck lovingly called a “Baby Grimoire.”

One thing he simply could not keep up with, though, was the Wheel of the Year.

His puny brain never remembered the exact months, or what each Sabbath meant, or how should he dress up for the occasion, or what he should or shouldn’t take from the kitchen. There were so many names, so many dates, so many herbs and foods, he barely managed to “survive” his first Yuletide, aided by his patient and caring boyfriend. Donghyuck was already a pro, becoming a witch when he was barely sixteen years old and enjoying every second of his studies, so it wasn’t so difficult for him. Mark wonders if the younger can name every herb used in Lughnasadh festivities without batting an eyelash.

Quietly, Mark steps over to the kitchen threshold, watching as Donghyuck cuts apple slices and neatly places them where a missing pie piece should’ve been. His narrow shoulders are beautiful, curving down to his waist and hips, legs long enough to wrap around Mark’s whole world. A window nearby showers him in gentle warm light, making him look twice as golden as he already is, and the older feels his heart sigh. There’s so much yearning in him he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands and his mouth and his body.

“I’m really sorry I ate the pie,” he speaks, softly, full of regret. 

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck throws the apple core in the composter box and turns around, face always so bright it blinds. “I’m sure the Fae won’t mind a bit more apple in the pie.”

He smiles, teeth perfect and eyes crinkling at the corners. Mark doesn’t know how the Fae could ever do anything against him.

**☽☉☾**

The sun is setting when Donghyuck grabs Mark’s wrist and pulls them both to their garden.

There’s no tall walls or anything for their privacy, but they live in such a small town it doesn’t matter. The grass is greener in this dusk, damp with the light drizzle from earlier in the day, and the flowers Donghyuck planted are blooming, pinks and yellows and lilacs dotting their little rendezvous. Somehow, Mark can sense the change in the air when the younger lights up a small fire, a crackle of static that wasn’t there, and the earth under his feet grows warmer, the air a little thicker. It’s magical, the sky burning a sweet violet as the sun gives way to the moon, the Goddess Donghyuck loves so much coming to kiss them in silvery light very soon.

Mark barely notices the younger has put on music for them, something melodic and full of love, gasping when he grabs Mark’s waist, all smiles and soft hands and even softer eyes. 

“C’mon, baby, let’s celebrate,” it’s barely a whisper, and they feel the fire close to their legs, they feel the coolness of the night and the warmth of their bodies, and they feel drunk off it all. 

It’s so easy, to spin Donghyuck around like a ballerina, catch him in his arms, laugh against each other’s mouths, be lovesick and dumb around a murmuring fire, believing that greater entities are seeing them, seeing their love and affection, and being pleased by it. The songs change but the feel doesn’t, the lyrics all translate to the same thing: being in love, fueling a fire at the bottom of the heart that never seems to burn out. Mark’s feet are being pricked by small rocks, by insects, by grass blades, but it doesn’t matter; the world doesn’t matter when Donghyuck looks this beautiful, glowing golden next to the fire and smiling so hard it’s impossible not to smile too.

They stop when they’re breathless, cheeks aching, lungs on fire, but it feels so good. Mark fetches a blanket inside while Donghyuck gets the food, and they sit by the crackling embers, warming their feet and sighing in contentment. The first slice of the apple pie ( _ or what  _ should  _ have been the first slice,  _ the younger hisses, but a smile hangs off his lips) is offered to the Gods, and so is the first sip of red wine and the first, most juicy cherry they can find. Second, Donghyuck murmurs an offer to the Fae, places the slice of pie under a rose bush with care, and scurries back to their blanket, tucking himself so close to Mark he can smell the lavender incense in his hair and clothes.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, warm and full of adoration, of reverence. The air is sticky now, the flowers shine brighter, the sky is alight with stars and the round, full moon. Whatever magic Donghyuck casts, it’s working, for the night feels ethereal, otherworldly. He knows real witchcraft isn’t like in fairy tales or movies, with glitter and flourishes and making people float with the snap of a finger ― it’s simply flowing and ebbing energy, pliant under knowing fingers. In the back of his mind, though, Donghyuck could birth an entire galaxy with a word and make plants grow just by singing to them. The younger could own the world and be loved for doing so.

“What’re you thinking, hm?” His voice is as sweet and tangy as the wine they drank, and his eyes reflect the moonlight. 

“Nothing,” and it’s a choked  _ I love you _ , because that’s always what he’s thinking when he looks at Donghyuck, and the younger one seems to know this, too. It must show in his eyes, all his adoration, and if it doesn’t, he’ll gladly demonstrate it.

The Beltane Fire is almost dead by their feet, once tall flames now only orange-hot coals, and the witch murmurs a small thank you before putting it out. Mark knows he could use the ashes to make fertility and love spells, but he doesn’t take any, and they both head inside, a bit dizzy from the alcohol and the energy in the air.

By the time Mark makes it to the bedroom, Donghyuck is already naked.

The younger throws his arms around Mark’s shoulders, fingers curling around his hair, and there’s so much exposed skin, so much warmth, Mark’s mouth is watering as he lets his hands settle on the swell of Donghyuck’s hips. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on, brain going on overdrive with the sweet breath fanning across his cheeks and chin, but goes along with it anyway. Staring in the witch’s eyes is maddening: he sees the light he holds and the lust, and he sees the affection, which stokes the fire in his chest and lower in his abdomen.

“Do you remember what this Sabbath is about, hm?” his voice is so low, scratching softly at his throat, and Mark has to force himself not to kiss him. Their lips keep brushing as the younger speaks, still petting Mark’s hair. “Do you know why it’s my favorite Sabbath, baby?”

The engines in the older’s head are turning so slowly, but he forces himself to think. Donghyuck’s soft skin under his palms is a distraction, but it clicks, and his stomach stirs with anticipation.

“Love. It’s the fertility and love one,” the smile grows on the younger’s lips, and Mark licks at it gently. His mischievous eyes are the only confirmation he needs.

He feels like he’s being electrocuted when they kiss properly, Donghyuck pressing hard against every inch of his body, mouths slotting together like puzzle pieces. It’s tender, almost innocent, the press of lips and the sigh they let out, like they’ve been dying to do this for years ― and then it’s not, it’s wild and needy and slick, and Mark’s hands squeeze the flesh at Donghyuck’s waist before climbing up and up and holding his face like he’s made out of porcelain, thumb brushing the younger’s cheekbones with all the care in the world.

They stumble to the bed still glued together, hands roaming each other’s bodies like two teenagers, Donghyuck’s mouth tasting like wine and honey and magic, his little hands scurrying up Mark’s shirt in an attempt to take it off. When they fall into the mattress, the older makes quick work of his clothes, sighing into Donghyuck’s lips as they finally press skin on skin, hot and sticky and tender all over. Every curve of the witch’s body makes Mark’s blood boil, the expanse of cinnamon skin smelling of lavender and earth, tasting of salt and everything that makes Donghyuck so otherworldly. He kisses all over, he touches and squeezes and pulls closer, like they haven’t seen each other in days.

Mark kisses Donghyuck’s chest, climbs up to his neck, peppers his lips everywhere, hands tight on his hipbone, and when they find each other’s eyes it’s as easy as breathing. Donghyuck’s hand finds the curve of Mark’s own neck and rests there, feeling the thrum of his carotid, looking at his face and feeling his heart sag in utter reverence. They’re so in love it’s gross, they’re so in love the Gods would feel jealous, and yet it doesn’t feel enough.

“Are you going to dedicate your orgasm to the Gods, too?” Mark’s voice is so mellow it doesn’t break their little bubble, but it still rips a giggle out of Donghyuck.

“Silly,” they kiss again, and their mouths parting echoes in the quietness of the room. The light in the witch’s eyes never dims, “I’m dedicating this one all for you.”

It hurts, the way Mark’s heart contracts in his chest, and he doesn’t even try to hide his satisfied smile. The younger giggles again, and it gets choked off when they press closer once more, erections knocking together. 

“You wanna go all the way?” Mark asks as he wraps a hand around their cocks, watching intently as the witch’s eyelids tremble. 

“Yeah,” his parted lips look so delicious, already puffy with the kissing and biting. “I stretched in the shower, so you don’t need to work too hard tonight.”

It’s playful, but there’s a raw edge to it, and Mark loves knowing he isn’t the only one deathly affected by his boyfriend and his body. 

He fetches the lube from the nightstand and coats his fingers generously, sitting on his heels to properly see what he’s doing. He enjoys the way Donghyuck’s body swallows him, the way he melts and shudders with the simple press of his fingers, the plushness of his thighs bracketing his hips, the concentration on Donghyuck’s brow as the fourth finger stretches him a little more, a little more forcefully. He sighs his approval, eyes pleading and glossing over, and Mark loves it most when he’s like this, spread open and soft, all fuzzy edges and glistening skin.

“How do you want it, love?” Mark pours lube all over his aching cock, stroking a little at the head, so ready to fuck the daylights out of this boy he’s shaking, heart thumping inside his ribcage like a wild rabbit.

“On my tummy, please,” it’s so cute it tugs at the older’s heartstrings, even if he doesn’t mean to. They place a pillow under Donghyuck’s hips and share a last kiss, sticky and chaste.

When Mark finally sinks in, they both sigh, slide easy and comfortable, and the younger is so tight and hot it’s hard to focus. The curve of his back is beautiful, tanned and dotted with sweat, Mark settling a hand there and slowly moving his hips, letting Donghyuck feel every inch of him dragging against his walls. The witch is so pliant he’s almost liquid, little breaths getting punched out of him as the thrusts become faster, one of his hands clinging to the sheets so hard his knuckles are white.

Mark moves his hips with such grace it’s infuriating, stroking so deep Donghyuck’s fingers go numb, pleasure rushing through his body like a dam’s broken. Like this, Mark’s hand is so heavy on his lower back he’s sure he’ll wake up and regret it, but it’s so exhilarating to be pressed face-first on the bed, fucked so hard he can barely breathe, cock dragging against the pillow every time his boyfriend pushes his hips forward.

The sweat collects on Donghyuck’s nape, and it feels so good,  _ so good _ , but something’s still missing. Mark slows down, and the younger whines.

“I wanna see your face, baby,” his voice is wrecked already, so rough it’s almost a murmur, but Donghyuck hears, complying immediately.

Missionary is probably one of Mark’s favorite positions, and while it sounds boring to their friends, they have no idea what they’re missing. 

Donghyuck’s brown hair fans out in the pillows like an angel’s halo, and his face contorted into pleasure is so beautiful it’s heartwrenching, eyes glistening with unshed tears, bitten-red lips caught between teeth to keep the noises at bay. His cock weeps pathetically on his soft belly, head angry-red and begging to be touched, and Mark does just that, enamoured by the way Donghyuck arches his back off the bed and keens high in his throat.

He’s artistic, living poetry in the way he moans and shakes, in the way his toes curl and he reaches forward until Mark understands he’s asking for a kiss, for their bodies to touch more and more and more. Donghyuck is magical in the way he tightens all over and cries out Mark’s name, pleading and imploring, one hand digging into Mark’s shoulder and the other gripping the older’s bicep hard enough to hurt. They’re so close to tipping over the edge, breathing into each other’s mouths and unable to form coherent sentences, and all it takes is a well-aimed thrust for the witch to fall apart in Mark’s arms, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

His golden thighs close around Mark’s hips in a vice grip, and nothing in the world is worth more awe than Donghyuck having an orgasm. The moonlight coming through the window looks like a blessing as it highlights every high ridge and depression of his body, the arch of his back and the indentations of his ribs underneath cinnamon skin and his cheekbones and the slope of his abdomen, everything glowing faintly with sweat. He sounds almost musical, whiny high delirious, and Mark cums so hard it’s disorienting, cums so hard his head goes light, holding onto Donghyuck’s waist as an anchor to the real world. 

As they come off their high, they giggle softly, and the younger finds Mark’s hand and holds it, and it feels even more intimate than whatever they were doing earlier. They’re sweaty and tacky, but Mark still tumbles on top of Donghyuck and kisses him silly, pinching his thighs and murmuring sweet little nothings in his ears.

In his head, Mark knows the Gods envy him right now, as he holds Donghyuck in his arms and kisses his damp temple, so full of love he can barely breathe. He knows no deity in this Universe could outshine this boy; no force could separate them, as strong as it may be. He doesn’t need to know any witchcraft to understand that.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! if there are any questions, don’t be afraid to ask, here or on my cc! i love answering qs about witchcraft. the original plan didn’t include smut, but i thought i’d be nice since beltane and sex are close friends. also the fic would be very very short without the smut gjdfsksdhj i’m also thinking about making a series out of this... :^)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/pyuhc) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/dawnfruits)  
> mwah! stay safe! ♡


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